All We Are
by Ink On Paper
Summary: It is the new challenges we face that bring us closer together. And it is the little things that make life so very sweet. A companion piece to What Is Missing . . . . Tiva.
1. Chapter I

**A/N: And we're back! This is a companion piece to What Is Missing -though you probably shouldn't have to read the original to understand what is going on, I don't think at least. Anyway, established Tiva and mostly in-canon as far as on-screen events thus far have occured -though I am taking off-screen liberties :^). This is fluff, so far warning to you, but it isn't ridiculous (there will be no Tiva babies -for now :^)). I hope for this to be a couple chapters, maybe five, depending on feedback if I need to expand/shorten the story -let me know? Reviews are always welcomed, though never ever demanded, begged for, or required :^). Much love until next time, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: And, alas, I own not a thing.**

Chapter I 

"Eee!" the excited squeal added to the soundtrack of the chirping cell phone currently in the grasp of pudgy toddler fingers.

"Shira," Ziva admonished lightly, reaching for her phone, "May I see? Please? Be'vakasha?"

Two big brown eyes peered up at her between long lashes. Shira blinked slowly, once, twice, before unceremoniously depositing the convulsing cell phone on the quilt she was sharing with Ziva. Ziva lurched forward, snatching the phone up, just in case the little girl changed her mind, and hit the answer button deftly. "David," she answered swiftly, making a face at Shira and eliciting bubbly laughter from her small companion.

"Ziva?"

"Tony!" she greeted warmly, shifting on the blanket, keeping a watchful eye her charge, now occupied by the depths of her caretaker's purse.

"Hey! What'cha doing?" he asked casually, the dull roar of downtown traffic heard in the background.

She smiled, maneuvering her pocket knife away from the pile of objects that Shira had collected from her bag. "I am at a soccer game. The Wild Tigers are playing against the D.C. Wolves -the Wolves are winning."

"I don't think I'm familiar with those teams-"

"They are local youth teams. . . . Do we have a case?"

"Why is it assumed that I only call when we have a case? I believe I spoke to you this morning, a conversation definitely unwork-related."

She rolled her dark eyes at his antics, "So is that a no?"

He sighed, breath crackling over the line. "That would be a yes. As in: Yes, we have a case. Dead marine. Out in Manassas. I'll come get you -where ya at?"

"I am at the park on Third and Carver.

"See you in fifteen."

"I'll be waiting. And Tony?"

"Yeeessss?"

"Toda." Click. Shira looked up at Ziva, cocking her head to the side, absently sticking the handle of a hair brush in her mouth. Ziva gently removed the object from the toddler's jaws, offering her a container of cheerios left behind in a diaper bag.

"That is more edible," Ziva informed a munching Shira, who watched idly as her aunt returned the dislocated items to the depths of her purse.

Surrounding families erupted into cheering as the blue jerseyed sweeper made an impressive play, earning a second point for the Wolves. Shira squealed and Ziva clapped, whistling, attention restored to the game.

* * *

The open expanse of grass was scattered with orange and blue jerseys as fourteen nine year olds vied for the soccer ball, currently being chased up the field by 12. The nearest goalie, wearing a yellow vest over his blue uniform, spread himself out, raising his hands, occupying as much of the net around him as possible. . . .

The opposition launched the ball, a rotating sphere of black and white, at the goal only to have it deflect off the side and roll out of bounds. There was a disappointed 'aw' from a few parents as the shrill screech of the referee's whistle called the play and signaled the break for halftime.

Ziva got up, brushing nonexistent grass from the seat of her jeans, raising her arms over her head. Shira watched her, mimicking her movements as she abandoned her book and scrambled to stand. Ziva continued stretching, casting a sideways glance at Shira, fighting back an amused grin as the toddler copied her pose for pose.

"Shira, are you a copycat?" she asked coyly, picking the little girl up and settling her on her hip.

"Cat-cat!" Shira repeated, giggling, Ziva joining in as she carried the toddler to the gathering of parents congregated under a large tree. A familiar bob of dark hair was spotted on the fringe of the group, leading Shira to call, "Mama! Mama!" and struggle against the arms that held her.

Acquiescing to the toddler's demands, Ziva bent down, releasing her grip on the squirming child, watching entertained as she attacked her mother's knees.

Sonel Yosef turned at the sudden ambush brought on by her daughter, placing a hand on Shira's curly head and smiling apologetically at her friend. "Thank you, Ziva, for watching her."

Ziva smiled, waving off the other woman's gratitude, "She was perfect. She is always perfect. Aren't you, tatelah?"

"Squee!"

Sonel laughed, shaking her head. "My little angel, no? . . . . While I am thinking of it, what are you doing Friday evening?"

Ziva paused, mulling this over, mentally flipping through the pages in her date book. Eventually she reached her conclusion, replying, "Nothing of consequence."

Sonel bit her lower lip, eyes flickering down to her daughter, now perched on her mother's feet and tugging out tufts of grass from the earth, roots and all. "Do you think you would be interested in watching the kids? Overnight?"

"Of course!" Her question was met without hesitation, eager excitement blossoming across Ziva's face.

Sonel grinned but still looked skeptical, "They are a handful, Ziva. You do not have to feel obligated to do this . . . ."

"I would love to watch them," Ziva reassured, a note of unflappable certainty coloring her words. Sonel noted the other woman's conviction and nodded, "Okay then. Mikel has a convention downtown, he's speaking. We can always come home late that night, he was just hoping for a little time to ourselves-"

Ziva held up her hand, her friend ceasing her explanation, "You and Mikel need that. Go and do not worry, we will be fine."

"Okay, if you are sure . . . . You have leave?" she asked, catching Ziva's cursory glance down at her wrist before her eyes flickered over to the street.

She nodded her confirmation, "Tony is coming to get me -we have a case."

"Speaking of Tony," Sonel smiled mischievously and Ziva braced herself for who knew what. "Why doesn't your fetching partner come keep you company, hm? That way you will not be by yourself with three kids. . . ."

"If Tony comes then I will be by myself with four kids," Ziva explained, smirking thoughtfully. "However, the boys will like him. . . . You do not mind?"

"So long as you don't do it in front of the kids."

"Sonel!" Ziva cried aghast as the other woman dissolved into laughter.

"I am sorry," she chuckled, "Had to see your reaction. Priceless, by the way." And Ziva was smiling despite herself before her eyes strayed from her friend's face and fixated over her shoulder, watching as a familiar looking man jogged toward them. "I think your ride has arrived," Sonel said with a wink, following Ziva's gaze and earning herself an eye roll.

"Tony," the latter greeted with a warm smile and soft expression as her partner approached, Cheshire grin firmly in place.

"Zee-vah," he acknowledged, standing beside her, hand brushing hers. "Mrs. Yosef," he said, inclining his head toward Sonel who shook her own in reply.

"Sonel," she insisted, scoldingly. "Unless you want me to call you Mr. DiNozzo?"

"Sonel it is," Tony amended, glancing down at Ziva. "We gotta go or Gibbs'll have our heads."

Ziva nodded her agreement, unwilling to face the wrath of her boss –and the accompanying headslap that would ensue such tardy behavior. Ziva stepped toward her friend, enveloping her in a hug. "You be safe," Sonel whispered into Ziva's ear and the other woman nodded, "I will try, _Mom_. And you tell Simcha that I apologize for missing the second half of his game."

"He will understand," Sonel replied, hoisting Shira up in her arms. "I'll see you Friday?"

"I look forward to it."

* * *

Ziva clicked her seatbelt into place as Tony turned the ignition, the engine rumbling to life as he pulled away from the curb. "Dinner Friday?" he asked, turning around, making sure he didn't hit the parking meter. Or a pedestrian.

Ziva shook her head, already coiling her hair into a neat, regulatory plait. "Not dinner –babysitting."

"You're going to babysit?" he asked, slightly incredulous, but pleasantly surprised. He turned his green eyes on her, raising an eyebrow, mock shock dominating his features.

His partner glared, securing a rubber band around the end of her braid with one hand, punching his arm with her other. He winced in apology, flashing her a dazzling grin in repentance. "What are you implying, Tony?" she asked coolly, mahogany eyes contradicting her tone with their warmth.

He shrugged, accelerating around a nondescript white van. "Nothing. I just have a hard time believing you like to babysit. How old is the kid?"

"They are nine, five, and two."

"You're going to watch three kids by yourself?" Now he was impressed.

Ziva leaned toward him, peering up at him through a thick fringe of lashes. "Do not be silly, Tony," she purred innocently, "you are going to help me."


	2. Chapter II

**A/N: This may be the last update for a couple of days. I'm off to Atlanta with my orchestra for a competition and don't know how well internet access is going to be or if time will even permit updates. However, I do intend to write on the eight+ hour bus ride at least until my laptop battery runs out. This is not my favorite thing I've ever written, so think of it as a bridge between the introduction and the awesomely fun time that will be had with the Yosef children (and yes, Shira will have Tony wrapped around her little finger). Peace and love and all good things until next time, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own a calico, a cello, and way too much math homework. If only I could trade the latter out for NCIS. . . . **

Chapter II

"Turn left," Ziva dictated as Tony maneuvered around a corner, nodding curtly to the passing car whose driver apparently didn't know how to work a three-way stop.

"It's a nice neighborhood," he commented, watching the world through his windshield, impressed with his surroundings. Houses cropped up on either side of the road, their front yards lush and green and sprawling. The structures themselves were decently sized, some two stories, others with porches. To two people who lived in their respective apartments, the homes seemed rather large.

Ziva pointed to a two story brick home with a large maple standing proudly in the front lawn. A black SUV was parked in the driveway, two bicycles abandoned on the freshly cut grass next to a soccer ball. A white cat was sprawled languidly across the sidewalk, face turned toward the evening sun, soaking in the warm gold rays. Tony let out a low, appreciative whistle.

"Remind me what Mikel does for a living?"

"He is a trauma surgeon at Bethesda."

"Say no more."

Ziva unbuckled her seatbelt, letting the strap retract to its original position as she turned her eyes to her partner. "Are you sure you are comfortable with this, Tony?"

He flashed her his patent smile, and sliding the keys from the ignition, replied evenly, "It'll be fun."

She returned his smile in kind, leaning up and her lips touching his cheek quickly, before ducking out the passenger side door. He sat there, hands still on the steering wheel, the popping of the cooling engine interrupting the quiet as he watched her stride up the driveway. He swore she put an extra swing in her hips as she moved.

* * *

"Ziva David!"

"Shalom Mikel," she greeted warmly as he opened the door, kissing her face in welcome. "You are looking quite debonair. You have been well?"

The older man shrugged, "I have been good. And yourself?"

Now she mirrored his previous action, "I am fine-" The slamming of the car trunk punctuated her response. Mikel looked over her shoulder, taking in the Mustang parked at the curb and the tall, sandy-brown haired man walking up the driveway, a small suitcase in tow. "I trust this is your partner?"

Ziva nodded, pursing her lips though the edges still quirked upward in a smile. "That would be him."

"Ziva! Shalom," Sonel cried, descending the stairs with a garment bag draped over her arm. She was dressed in a long navy gown, a beautiful contrast to her olive skin, while her short raven hair was swiped back in a style with a crystal clip. She reached the landing, enveloping Ziva in a hug, greeting her in a similar manner as her husband had previously. And noticing Tony lurking at the threshold, added, "Shalom, Tony."

"Shalom, Sonel," he returned cordially and extending his hand to Mikel, introduced himself. "Tony DiNozzo."

"Mikel Yosef," Mikel replied, grasping the proffered hand in a firm shake. "It is a pleasure."

"Likewise."

Sonel beamed at the exchange, raising her eyebrows at Ziva, as if to say "See?" The latter rolled her eyes, wondering aloud, "Where are the boys?"

"Outback," Sonel confirmed with a nod. "We have said our goodbyes and they have promised to be good for you."

"And not because we threatened them within an inch of their lives-"

"Mikel!" Sonel scolded. "Do not tease like that! We do not threaten the children." But Mikel just grinned as Ziva chuckled and Tony watched on in amusement. She turned back to her previous run down of the parent checklist: "They already ate dinner –and you two are more than welcome to the leftover pizza in the fridge, if you like. And there is a bottle of wine in the cooler for you too, as a thank you –and before you protest, Ziva, I insist. Take it as a gift if you must."

"A thank you gift," Mikel added. "And for the record, anything in the kitchen is fair game."

"The boys can go to bed anytime, no later than eleven, okay? Shira is napping now because she wouldn't nap this afternoon, but she'll be ready to go back to sleep at eight. You and Tony are more than welcome to the master bedroom and the guestroom. . . . Are you sure you are okay with this? With them? They are a handful-"

"Ahavah, we are going to be late," Mikel chided, gently placing his hand at the small of Sonel's back, prodding her toward the door. "They will be fine. Ziva and Tony are perfectly capable."

Sonel nodded, permitting herself to be shepherded out the door by her husband. Then, upon remembering, she paused in her tracks, continuing, "Simcha knows the code for the house alarm-"

Mikel rolled his eyes, shaking his head in fond exasperation. "Lamb, would you stop with the worrying? They'll be fine –we've got to be the only parents in D.C. to get highly trained federal agents for babysitters." Ziva grinned at this and Tony chuckled softly as the Yosefs waved their goodbyes, finally departing as Mikel successfully ushered Sonel into the SUV.

Tony turned to Ziva, ocean eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'm ready to meet the kids.


	3. Chapter III

**A/N: I was trying to capture Tony and Ziva's interaction with the kids and I hope a sort of succeeded. This is proving to be more difficult to write than previously thought, but I am enjoying it (and I hope you are too!) Anyway, here it is, though this is more of a filler chapter. As always reviews are welcome (never demanded) so let me know how I'm doing? (of course only if you want). Keep the peace until next time, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. **

Chapter III

His jogging shoes pounded the ground heavily, his racing heart subdividing the rapid tempo of his feet. And despite the fact that he was currently being chased down relentlessly by what may the two most experienced players he'd ever come across, he couldn't help but smile in the face of defeat. Because if right now was his time to go, well, that would be okay, he thought.

And suddenly the grass came up to meet him and he felt the earth tremble as his weight struck hard.

Ziva appeared at the backdoor, arms full of a sleepy Shira, in time to see Abe and Simcha tackle Tony to the ground. She heard the thud and then the sound of the little boys' giggling and her partner's own hysterical laughing as Shira lifted her head off Ziva's collarbone to get a better vantage of the events unfolding in the center of the yard.

"Simcha, Abe, do not break Uncle Tony," she called as the latter sat up, eyes flickering over to her at the nickname. He'd taken it well considering she had forgotten to warn him of the fact that the children had dubbed her 'aunt' from the start and it was only fitting that he play the role of 'uncle' –a title he carried proudly, it seemed, as they had been rough-housing in the backyard for nearly an hour. Green eyes settled on the little girl, still sluggish from her nap, clinging to Ziva and the look that crossed his face, almost imperceptible, did not go unnoticed.

Tony smirked before scrambling upward, only to be hit in the head by a wayward soccer ball. His audible 'D-oh' echoed around the yard, as Abe and Simcha bounded up behind, the trio winding up on the ground once more. Ziva shook her head, setting Shira, now awake and squirming, on the porch floor, taking up a seat herself on the topmost step.

It was odd, she mused, how mere hours ago she had been staring at the lifeless corpse of a young gunnery sergeant and now she was looking at the absolute contradiction to such an image. Bubbling laughter that filled a large backyard as the sky began to erupt in quiet purples and fading pinks. And at that very moment she knew there was a little peace, a little innocence, left within a dark and turbulent world where disgruntled privates shot their superiors over bunking arrangements.

Stars had begun to twinkle in the darkening dusk and Ziva sighed, standing up. "Come on, Simcha, Abe. Time to get your showers." And she was amazed at the speed in which the boys sprinted across the yard, an abundance of seemingly inexhaustible energy. Abe had a grass stain smeared across his shirt and Simcha's face was streaked with dirt, but both were grinning, eyes shining. And then, arriving at a slower pace, there was Tony, his shirt wrinkled and spotted with soil, several blades of grass sticking up in his sandy brown hair. His face spread into his patent smile at the sight of her before his attention was reverted to the slight pressure against his left leg. His eyebrows rose in surprise as he looked down, two big brown eyes staring up at him in anticipation.

Shira raised her pudgy arms toward Tony, beckoning to him, demanding with quickly ebbing patience, "Up."

His gaze returned to Ziva, regarding the exchange with mild fascination. His eyes silently asking for permission, it seemed.

"Up!"

"Ziva?"

"I would do as she asks," she advised. And she half expected him to refuse, to excuse himself politely under the guise of making sure the boys were not upstairs drowning in the shower. But Anthony DiNozzo was a man of many surprises and Ziva was no stranger to them. So when he bent over and deftly scooped up Shira, it wasn't entirely shattering. Reality was not suddenly skewed and the earth did not tilt on its axis to spin counterclockwise. Shira did what Shira did, leaning back in Tony's arms, studying him, scrutinizing him, brow almost puckered in adorable concentration. And then she placed her chin on his shoulder and sighed.

Tony's ocean eyes were wide and his original smile seemed to broadened as he carried Shira, following his partner back inside. Ziva chuckled and called over her shoulder, "I told you she likes you," to which he grinned, wincing good-naturedly as Shira tugged at his hair.

* * *

The sound of running water was muted overhead, the patter of footsteps and laughter escaping the barrier between the house's two levels. Ziva had retreated upstairs with the kids, bracing herself for the duty of referee because she just knew that soapy water was splashing all over the bathroom walls (it wasn't). She hadn't come back down yet, which Tony supposed was fine, afterall she had taken Shira with her and, well, the littlest Yosef seemed to adore her aunt and vice versa. So he stayed downstairs and surveyed Sonel's decor, a nice, warm traditional style with plush furniture and personal accents in the form of photos and elementary school artwork. It was homey and he liked it quite a bit, though it seemed so drastically different from his own apartment. And Ziva's apartment too, for that matter.

He stood up, moseying over to the long shelf running along the far wall and the assortment of frames that were perching on its surface. They were mostly photos of the kids from over the years: Several of birthdays and soccer games, a few family shots from Hanukah and presumably a summer vacation. There were large portraits of Abe and Simcha, 09-10 stamped in the corner in gold, obviously recent school photos. A gilded silver frame took up a place of honor on the right, a wedding shot of Sonel and Mikel, both glowing and beaming and radiating joy. But it was the photograph toward the back that captivated him, drew his attention.

It was a small photo, a four-by-six, nestled in a nondescript stainless steel frame. A young woman stood uncertainly before the camera, dressed in canvas pants and barefoot, a black t-shirt clinging to her slender frame. Her hair was thick and curly, a wide tangle restrained with cameo scarf. An azure blue sky filled the background, and the harsh sun had left a starburst in the corner of the shot.

Tony gingerly picked up the portrait, eyes studying the face frozen forever in film. Lips pursed unconsciously as dark eyes remained riveted, not on the camera, but on the bundle cradled rigidly in uncertain arms. Her expression could arguably be one of awe, though he knew better. He also knew how rare it was to see Ziva David show such an emotion.

"What are you looking at?" she wondered aloud, drawing him out of his reverie and back into the living room. She had materialized at his shoulder like a mist, appearing without so much as a sound. But he took this all in stride, and lifting the photograph in his hand as evidence, asked in reply, "Is this you?"

"Yes. It was taken three weeks after Simcha was born, five days after the towers fell. I left for Suez the next day. It was my last chance to see him." He glanced down at her, her eyes far away and pensive.

"You look . . . . stiff," he acknowledged lightly.

"I was afraid I would drop him. . . . or make him unclean." And Tony opened his mouth to refute that confession, but was interrupted.

"Aunt Ziva?" Both partners turned around to find Simcha leaning against the doorjamb, absently brushing his dark curls, still damp from his shower, off his forehead. "Are we still making brownies?" he asked, eyes wide and expecting as Abe's excited, "Brownies!" drifted down from upstairs. Ziva laughed and nodded because by then, Tony too had perked up from his reminiscent mood, and was expressing his interest in the conversation's turn.

"You're making brownies?" he asked shamelessly and she patted his abdomen affectionately, smirking her confirmation.

"_We_ are still making brownies."


	4. Chapter IV

**A/N: There will be at least two more chapters after this, including the epilogue. I hope to have this piece done by Tuesday, but I don't know if it'll happen. . . . Sorry about the wait since last update, I hit a bit of a block on this story. However, that issue was clearly resolved since the brownie-baking portion of this production spanned a couple hundred words more than what I thought it would. Therefore, the movie watching aspect will be brief in the following chapter, but that's okay. It turned out fine, I think. Let me know? If you want. Much love and keep the peace, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Tomorrow? Nothing. The day after? Probably nothing. But next Friday? It'll still be nothing.**

Chapter IV.

Ziva had sent Simcha back upstairs to help Abe straighten up their playroom and turn down their beds because Tony had promised them a movie and she had agreed to baking brownies and the night was vowing to run past bedtime. So Tony had been commandeered into supervising the boys while Ziva retreated into the nursery with Shira to put the toddler down. And that was exactly where Tony found her, half an hour later.

He had dispatched the boys downstairs to set up the movie before wandering down the hall to where the girls had disappeared. He didn't mean to become sidetracked there in the doorway of Shira's room, lurking at the threshold, completely captivated by the sight before him.

Ziva was standing in the middle of the room, amidst pale pink walls and white wooden furniture, with her back to the door way. She had abandoned her jeans and blouse in favor of her pajamas, her hair no longer in its sleek ponytail, but loose around her shoulders and cascading down her back. She was bouncing Shira lightly in her arms in the hopes that the gentle rocking would lull the toddler to sleep as her sultry alto filled the air, foreign words of Hebrew waxing and ebbing intricately. She turned around, eyes fixated on Shira, who was stubbornly wide awake, and while Tony went unnoticed, the look on her face did not.

Ziva's expression was the quintessence of pure and total contentment. And Tony was simply thrilled to get to see it, her face without the constant crease of stress and worry, her shoulders relaxed and casual instead of tense and ready. Sheer bliss seemed to radiate off her in waves, tainting him and the surrounding air with golden pleasure. It was exciting, this blatantly happy Ziva. Granted, he was witnessing the softer side of her more often as of late, though usually the new persona would only manifest within the safe confines of their apartments' walls.

Dark eyes flickered upward and met the intent stare of green, playfulness and warmth penetrating mahogany irises. "Hey," she greeted brightly, unselfconscious as she continued bobbing Shira, now squirming to get a better vantage point on Tony.

"Hey," he replied, venturing further into the room. "You wanna come help make brownies? I mean, I'm totally capable of doing it myself, it's just . . . ."

"It's just you do not want to have clean up a mess."

"I'm not that messy," he defended, feigning offense.

Ziva laughed, "Anthony DiNozzo you are a mess."

"Squee!" Shira chirped, arms stretched toward Tony.

He raised his eyebrows, nodding in indication of the infant, "She not ready to go to bed yet?"

Ziva frowned, passing the infant to her partner. "Apparently not."

Tony only grinned, shifting Shira so she was sitting on his shoulders, her pudgy fingers fisting in his short sandy brown hair. "I vote we take her back downstairs."

"Eee!"

"And Shira seconds the motion."

Ziva sighed, a smile returning to her lips at the sight of her niece and Tony. "It's unanimous," she concluded, moving toward the door, Tony (and Shira) following.

* * *

"Like that?" Abe asked, craning his neck to look up at Tony, seeking the older man's approval. Tony regarded the yellow yoke oozing sunny-side-up in the bowl.

He grinned at Abe, "Yep, that oughta do it."

"Abraham," Ziva called from her position at the sink, "Come wash your hands since you just handled an egg."

Abe made no effort to move, but Tony prodded him gently, tossing his chin in the direction of his partner. "I'd wash my hands," he advised. "Raw egg isn't good for you." And Abe acquiesced, hopping down from his barstool perch and scampering to where he was being summoned.

"I got the milk," Simcha announced, taking up his place beside his brother's abandoned post, right as Tony finished fishing out the egg shells from the batter. He placed the two gallon jug heavily on the countertop, reaching for the measuring cup. "How much?"

Tony consulted the back of the box. "Two cups. You got it?"

"I got it." And Simcha did in fact have it, only spilling a few splashes on the granite.

A mighty sneeze sounded from the center of the island where Shira sat now dusted in flour. And Tony found this ridiculously funny, as well as cute, if not utterly cliché. "Gesundheit, Nesicha," he said as Ziva moved to salvage what remained of the flour.

"Toda, Shira," she teased, brushing the little girl's powder smudged cheek. Shira only batted her long lashes and cooed innocently.

Twenty minutes later, when the brownies were safely in the oven cooking at the right temperature ("Tony, putting it at 350 like the recipe says. 450 will not make it bake faster."), Ziva surveyed the damage. Other than the fine film of flour coating the island top and the splatter of brownie batter that Abe had overzealously mixed, the mess was not overtly bad. Tony had removed the children, herding them into the living to start watching the previews to _Lion King, _which she had been sworn she'd like ("It's Disney, Ziva. You can't go wrong with Disney! It's the happiest place on Earth."). She had remained behind to tidy up, all of which took her less than ten minutes –just in time to pull the brownie pan out of the oven.

"Smells good," Tony drawled, sidling up behind her.

"Mm-hm," she agreed, leaning backward against his chest briefly. "They are quiet," she acknowledged as he reached around her, pinching off a bit of brownie and popping it in his mouth.

Ignoring his burnt tongue, he replied lightly, "Yeah, singing animals will do that. . . . You've got chocolate on your face."

Ziva swiped at her cheek then examined her fingers. "No I don't."

Reaching behind him where the mixing bowl sat beside the sink, Tony dipped his fingertip into the remaining batter that clung to the glass before dabbing a bit on her cheek. "Do too," he argued quietly, licking it off her.

She swatted at him, but grinned despite herself. "The children are still up," she admonished, slipping out from his embrace to retrieve plates.

"Fine, fine. I'll behave," he resigned with a theatric sigh. "For now."

She brushed past him, balancing three plates in her hands. "Will you get those two plates while you are being good? For now."

"Yes dear," he said, picking up the plates she had indicated with a flourish and following her out into the living room. They really should bake brownies at home more often . . . .


	5. Chapter V

**A/N: There is another chapter, yes another, and an epilogue and then this story shall be put to bed (there is a pun there somewhere). Regardless, here it is and I hope it doesn't disappoint. This may actually warrent a very mild mild (think of bunny-rabbit mild) T. Much love, Kit.**

**DISCLAIMER: _Precisely._**

Chapter V

She glanced about the room, absorbing the scene that had unfolded around her. Simcha was curled up in the leather armchair, battling heavy eyelids and yawning every other breath. Abe had his head resting a throw pillow propped up against Ziva's thigh, fast asleep. He had lasted a grand total of twenty minutes before nodding off.

A low grunt sounded from the opposite end of the couch where Tony was sprawled, his legs stretched out across the ottoman. His head was tipped back, face utterly relaxed, lips slightly parted. Shira was dozing on his chest, her head tucked up under his chin, her back rising and falling rhythmically with her own breaths and Tony's.

And later, Ziva won't remember what was happening on screen, what exactly was unfolding on the African plain amidst the tangled hierarchy of the animal kingdom. But the image surrounding her would stay with her long after the credits rolled.

* * *

"Ziva? Hey, wake up Sleeping Beauty." Warm breath was at her ear, fanning across her neck as soft fingers brushed her arm lightly. "Zee-vah."

She mumbled as her eyes focused on Tony's familiar face looming above her, "Wha'? Tony?"

He smiled apologetically, "Yeah. Bedtime, Ninja. Come on," and carefully he helped her up, guiding her gently to what resembled an upright position all the while balancing Shira with his free arm.

Ziva stifled a yawn, surveying the room. The television screen was devoid of Disney magic having been replaced by the black curtain of 'off.' Simcha was shuffling toward the stairs, Abe blinking fuzzily up at Tony and Ziva from his place on the couch.

"I'll straighten up down here," Tony offered.

Nodding, Ziva accepted Shira, settling the sleepy baby on her hip. "Come on, tatelah," she said, placing her hand between Abe's shoulder blades, guiding him upstairs after his brother.

Tony watched them go and was suddenly met with an image he hadn't entertained in years. He had originally conjured it up a lifetime ago, partially out of humorous spite and partially out of morbid curiosity –regardless it had relieved some of the tedium that particular undercover operation had involved. An assassin playing an assassin, Ziva had been informed that the subject she was portraying had been pregnant before her fateful accident which therefore led to Ziva announcing bluntly that she was expecting. Which therefore led to Tony's overactive imagination producing a mental image of Ziva David, ninja extraordinaire, heavy with child.

However, what had once been spectacularly improbable was now more than a sensible justification. The Ziva David of the past, the fearless and reckless and indomitable Mossad assassin, was not the same woman that was currently shepherding small children up stairs to their awaiting beds. The Ziva that was there with him now had softer edges and a gentleness that manifested itself more often. What had once been coolly elusive and stoically unattached was becoming warmer and more receptive, more serene and unhurried. For a woman whose future was previously a murky uncertainty, she now existed with a definite permanence that seemed to grow more and more rooted every day.

And he was certainly not the same bachelor that once flirted blatantly with a practical stranger donning a maid's uniform, the same man that had balked at the announcement that feigned sex had resulted in a pregnancy . . . . He knew he loved her then, he knew he'd loved her all along. It was merely that now, in her best friend's house, tending to Sonel's children, the gravity of who they were and who they had become was never more apparent.

And in his mind's eye as he watched his partner's retreating form, the slight swing of her hips and the familiar view of her favorite sweats, as she helped a sleepy kindergartener navigate steps all the while supporting a slumbering toddler, Shira's head resting sweetly on Ziva's shoulder, he found that daydream returning. Only this time the image of Ziva laughing and glowing with a baby safe beneath her naval had him smiling. And he supposed that it was the lack of caffeine and the sheer exhaustion of the afternoon's activities that was causing this reminisce, but he couldn't help but notice how now a scenario like that would fit.

He shook his head, dispelling the picture, and shuffled into the kitchen.

* * *

"Okay, the children are in bed . . . . Tony?" The master bedroom was dark when Ziva pushed open the half closed door. She could make out the vague shape of the king sized bed, the uniform profile of a chest of drawers. She ran her fingers blindly along the wall in search of the light switch and locating the device, flicked it upward, the lamps on either side of the four-poster glowing to life.

"Hey," came a familiar voice from behind her. She turned around and found Tony, bearing two long stemmed glasses half-filled with crimson liquid and bright ocean eyes that peered at her expectedly. "It's a good year," he announced, passing her her glass.

Ziva sipped at her drink, padding over to the bed, and sinking down into the mattress with a hum. Tony placed his glass on his respective nightstand and, shedding his t-shirt, flopped down next to her –Ziva, anticipating this covered the mouth of her glass with her palm, preventing the few sips of wine left from spilling.

"Tony," she scolded half heartedly as he scooted over to her, leaning back against the headboard. She sat her glass on her night table before cuddling up to him with a yawn.

"Tired?"

She peered up at him through half-lidded eyes, "Very."

"Shame," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips to hers.

"Keep in mind," she prompted as he kissed her jaw line, "we are guests."

"Mm-hm."

"And you will sleep in the guestroom if you cannot behave-" but her threats of impending banishment were stifled as her mouth was reclaimed by his.

"Ziva?" he asked as she trailed kisses down his neck.

"Hm?"

"Never mind."

* * *

She sighed through her nose, subconsciously shifting closer to him, where his body was curled around hers. He smiled, still semi-awake, fingers skimming her side through her t-shirt. He was listening, for little feet or cries or anything really. But it was silent for the most part and he stifled a yawn, burrowing down into the mattress and closing his eyes . . . .


End file.
